


The Twink Behind the Counter

by holyfudgemonkeys (erraticallyinspired)



Series: Gobmas 2020 [6]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: (for the most part), Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Barista Malcolm Bright, Coffee Shops, Getting to Know Each Other, JT POV, M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Sloppy Makeouts, Soldier JT, college-aged Malcolm Bright
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:42:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28029477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erraticallyinspired/pseuds/holyfudgemonkeys
Summary: While on leave, JT has stuck to his own schedule, including going to the same coffee shop every morning. It helps that the twink who makes his coffee more often than not is cute.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright/JT Tarmel
Series: Gobmas 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2037802
Comments: 8
Kudos: 40





	The Twink Behind the Counter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [missneko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/missneko/gifts).



> Every single time you've mentioned coffee shop aus in the last few weeks, I've been cackling on the inside... ;) I knew I had to write one for ya, Neko!! I hope you enjoy it as much as JT enjoys Malcolm's lattes lol. I love you~~! <3<3<3<3

JT has a routine, and he sticks to it. 

His time overseas has trained him to wake up early, so he does despite being on leave. He wakes up the moment his alarm goes off, earlier if there’s any sort of racket outside his apartment, and walks a few blocks to the gym. 

It’s usually pretty empty. The employees know him by name. 

Two hours and one indulgently long shower at his apartment later, he heads to the closest coffee shop. It’s usually fairly full. JT knows Harvard’s main campus is only a short walk away, and this place tends to get the runoff from all of the campus shops. More often than not, all of the outlets are taken up by students with laptops and three days worth of insomnia weighing down their eyes. They stick to their tables unless they’re getting another hit of caffeine. 

JT likes it that way. Less people to bother him or try and sit with him because he ‘looks lonely’ or some shit. He just wants to drink his coffee, maybe read the newspaper. The drinks are good enough that sometimes he’ll just stop by just to grab a cup to go. 

It helps that the kid who often makes his coffee is hot, in a twinky way. Kid, because he can’t be more than twenty or twenty-one. He’s perky for the most part. Maybe the age difference isn’t much, but he’s certainly untouched by all the shit JT’s seen in the last few years. 

Basically, JT can’t stop himself from taking a look now and then.

And, God help him, he loves a good twink when he’s swinging in that direction. Lately, he’s been allowing himself to do so more. In the grand scheme of things, it hasn’t been long since Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell was repealed, and it still feels new and wild to be able to let his gaze linger. He doesn’t ask for more, though. He’s due to ship out again soon enough, and he’d rather not start something he might want to drag out. Approaching _that_ one would definitely start something. 

Which, of course, means that the twink initiates a conversation while JT is perfectly willing to take him in quietly, watching as he works the machines behind the counter, brilliant blue eyes trained on the hot coffee he’s pouring. 

“When do you ship back out?” the twink says one morning. 

JT can feel the way his eyebrow shoots up. Although he’s far from ashamed or anything, he doesn’t make a habit of wearing clothes that would point to his service record out and about. Those are tucked in his closet at the apartment, waiting for the day he leaves again. He doesn’t even use his discount. There’s no reason this kid should know about any of it. 

The twink flushes, red racing across his cheeks in a blotchy fashion that shouldn’t be as goddamn endearing as it is. “Ah, sorry about that,” he says and holds out a compostable to-go cup already secured with the lid. “You hold yourself like a soldier, and you give off a very clear military vibe, at least to me, and I don’t see any evidence you’re no longer on active duty, so —”

Part of him is proud he’s managed to catch this kid’s eye enough to be scrutinized.

The bulk of him is annoyed that he’s being _analyzed_. 

“None of your business, man,” JT says flatly, taking his coffee and dropping his change in the tip jar. 

He ends up taking a walk around the city instead of sitting at his usual table by the door. 

The next day, he’s forgotten about it. Well, not really, but he doesn’t particularly care. It’s not too surprising his training bleeds through into his walk or the way he stands. It was more the surprise than anything that got him. Plus, he doubts the twink will try talking to him again after that meeting.

(JT is privately annoyed at himself for that one.)

He wakes up early.

He goes to the gym.

He showers.

He heads to the coffee shop.

The twink is behind the counter making what looks like an espresso for someone, but, the second JT orders, he busies himself with cleaning up, leaving one of his coworkers to craft JT’s caramel latte. It’s not terribly subtle. 

JT frowns but takes his drink and sits at his usual table. It shouldn’t irk him as much as it does and yet… he brushes it off the best he can. He won’t even be in the area for much longer. There’s no use in getting hung up on stupid mistakes made over a twink he’ll probably never see again. He takes a sip of his latte. 

It’s not awful, but it’s not _great_. Nowhere near as good as it usually is. Glancing over at the counter, JT meets wide blue eyes that skirt away from his, the kid turning to fiddle with something that probably didn’t need to be fiddled with. The urge to apologize hits him suddenly. 

Instead, he reluctantly finishes his drink and chalks the difference up to the tension in the air. 

It tastes just as mediocre the next day. JT glares down at the cup. He can’t even bring himself to finish it today, not when the whole situation is already sitting badly in his gut. Dropping the full cup into the trash, he makes his way up to the counter and glances down at the twink’s name tag for the first time. 

(A name makes this more real. Makes him much more likely to think about the twink _after_ he leaves the shop, too.

Not that he doesn’t already do that plenty.)

“Malcolm,” JT says, catching those brilliant eyes again in time to see him startle. “Would you mind making me another latte, bro?”

( _Malcolm_ seems very fitting for this pasty white kid. JT likes it.)

Malcolm hesitates but nods and gets to work making another, his gaze flickering over to JT every now and then like he can’t help it. 

Every single time, JT is looking right back at him.

The latte sits between them, gently steaming through the hole in the lid, a cardboard sleeve fit snug around the body of it. 

JT picks it up. Sips. 

It’s perfect. Of course it is. 

“I have no idea what you’ve been doin’ to my coffee,”JT says, shaking his head, “but it’s better when you make it.”

Malcolm perks up, a slight bit of smugness tinging his smile

(Fuck if JT isn’t gone on this damn twink.)

“Bright,” one of the other employees says sharply, bringing both of their attention to the line that’s gathering behind JT as the morning rush of college students really picks up. 

Malcolm glances at it with a tight smile. “My lunch break is at one.”

With a nod, JT takes his perfect latte and leaves, because his usual table has been taken over by a girl with a sloppy ponytail, a laptop, and a stack of books. It’s okay though. 

He’ll be back at one.

“So what is it?” JT says, picking up half of his sandwich. He met Malcolm at the coffee shop right on time, and now they’re at a cafe a handful of blocks away for a quick lunch. 

Malcolm is across the table from him in all of his work clothes except for the apron, which he traded for a Harvard sweatshirt on his way out. There’s a small splatter of coffee on his cuff right where it peeks out from his outer layer, but otherwise he looks like just about any other college kid. His tongue darts out to catch the smallest dab of mustard on his lip. “Less milk,” he says with a shrug. 

JT stares at him. “That’s it?”

“Jared uses too much milk,” Malcolm explains. “He’s the one who made your coffee the last two days. Plus, I’ve noticed on the rare occasion you get black coffee you don’t add much from the bar. So I used less than it calls for.”

The last time he ordered a black coffee was maybe his second week back, when he was still adjusting to coffee that wasn’t as shitty as the stuff he got overseas. “You’re observant.” And JT is pretty pleased, honestly. 

(He’s still got it.) 

Malcolm ducks his head and takes another bite of his sandwich. “It’s necessary for my field of study. My goal is to become a profiler for the FBI.” He keeps his eyes on his food.

“I’m applying to the police academy as soon as my tour is over,” JT says abruptly. There’s something about the way Malcolm is holding himself that makes him want to share, if only to get the kid to stop closing himself off. “Back home in New York.”

That certainly gets Malcolm’s attention. “You’re from the city?”

JT nods, brow raised.

“Me, too.” Malcolm bites his lip consideringly. “When you get back, look up Gil Arroyo at the NYPD. He’s a good cop.”

He’s utterly sincere. JT can tell, and so, instead of insisting he can do it on his own, he files the name away before guiding the conversation in a different direction.

JT has a routine, and he sticks to it.

He wakes up early.

He goes to the gym.

He showers.

He heads to the coffee shop.

He comes back at one for Malcolm’s lunch break. 

They don’t talk much about coffee, the topics shifting to their mutual interest in law enforcement and cases on the news. Malcolm’s schooling, too. Occasionally, they talk about their families. JT has his sisters and his mom back in New York, and Malcolm, as it turns out, understands being an older brother to a very extroverted little sister all too well. For the first time in a while now, JT has someone to shoot the shit with. His days are better for it, especially with each passing lunch where he finds himself relaxing more and more, enjoying his time with Malcolm for all that he doesn’t expect it to go farther than this. 

Oh, he wants it to. Getting to know him hasn’t made JT want to hook up with him any less — if anything, it’s the opposite. He’d love to fuck him silly, to make him lose his composure, to make that flush spread down his neck and beyond. 

But Malcolm hasn’t made any steps forward before today, when he gave JT his address and invited him over for dinner. 

Even that, JT is more willing to chalk up to the fact that he’s shipping back out tomorrow. He told him over lunch. Told him it was likely the last time they’d see each other. 

Now, he’s in front of Malcolm’s building with his hands in his pockets, unable to shake off the thought that _maybe_ this is something more than a friendly farewell. His phone buzzes against his hand. He turns off the alarm and texts that he’s at the door. 

The light switches green, the lock temporarily disengaged. It’s spacious inside. There’s an elevator, too, and a nice one at that. Nothing about it is what you’d call dingy. 

The elevator opens at the top level. There’s only one door up here. 

Malcolm stands in front of it with a nervous smile. 

JT snorts. “Don’t tell me the coffee shop pays enough for this.” He has a feeling the apartment within is quite a lot larger than his own. 

“Would you believe me if I said I wanted the experience?” His smile turns wry. 

“I’m expecting some damn good dinner,” is all JT says in return. 

And a damn good dinner is what he gets. They get takeout — the kind that would make him wince if he was paying for it, but Malcolm insists on getting him a good meal before he leaves the country again. Italian food arrives in record time. It’s hot, steaming even, and smells delicious. They sit on the sofa to eat. 

JT can’t help but notice Malcolm sits close enough for their thighs to touch, that his gaze drifts over often, that it lingers. So, when Malcolm inevitably gets a bit of sauce on the corner of his mouth, JT leans in and cleans it off with his thumb. 

Malcolm curls his tongue around it.

Which, of course, shifts to a kiss.

And then another.

And another, their dinners abandoned on the coffee table as they get to know the shape of each other’s mouth. Malcolm tastes sweet, JT finds. It’s not unexpected with how often he sees the kid pop candy during his shifts.

(JT _likes_ sweet.) 

There’s an eagerness there, too. JT barely has to lean over with the way Malcolm pushes back into the kiss, into him. He rests a hand on his thigh and revels in the moan he gets in return. 

Malcolm scrambles into his lap at some point after that. He fits there perfectly, his knees bracketing JT’s legs, and his arms wrap around his neck. He can really give the kiss his all in this position. Nipping at JT’s lips, pressing their groins together, skimming his fingers along his hairline — it feels like forever there. Just the two of them together, exploring, the climax of weeks of longing looks. 

But, inevitably, JT’s phone buzzes against his thigh. He groans unhappily. 

It’s the reminder that he needs to go back to his own apartment. He needs to sleep. He needs to get up early and report for duty once again. 

Malcolm gets off his lap with a bittersweet look. “I guess this is it.”

“Yeah.” JT makes no move to stand. 

“You should go,” Malcolm says, leaning over for one more kiss. It’s chaste. Brief. A goodbye, if JT’s ever felt one.

They sit in silence for a minute.

JT sighs. “I’ll call you when I’m stateside.” He means it, too, and he hopes that comes across. 

(The soft, hesitant, trusting look he gets in return means he may have hit his mark.)


End file.
